[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":4},["ShallowReactive",2],{"reading-0309":3},"MARCH 9\r\nLook from the top (Song of Solomon 4:8).\r\nCrushing weights give the Christian wings. It seems like a\r\ncontradiction in terms, but it is a blessed truth. David out of\r\nsome bitter experience cried: \"Oh, that I had wings like a dove!\r\nThen would I fly away, and be at rest\" (Ps. 55:6). But before he\r\nfinished this meditation he seems to have realized that his wish\r\nfor wings was a realizable one. For he says, \"Cast thy burden upon Jehovah, and he win sustain thee.\"\r\nThe word \"burden\" is translated in the Bible margin, \"what he\r\n(Jehovah) hath given thee.\" The saints' burdens are God-given; they lead him to \"wait upon Jehovah,\" and when that is done, in the\r\nmagic of trust the \"burden\" is metamorphosed into a pair of wings, and the weighted one \"mounts up with wings as eagles.\"\r\n--Sunday School Times.\r\nOne daywhen walking down the street,\r\nOn business bent, while thinking hard\r\nAbout the \"hundred cares\" which seemed\r\nLike thunder clouds about to break In torrents, Self-pity said to me:\r\n\"You poor, poor thing, you have too much To do. Your life is far too hard.\r\nThis heavy load will crush you soon.\" A swift response of sympathy\r\nWelled up within. The burning sun\r\nSeemed more intense. The dust and noise Of puffing motors flying past\r\nWith rasping blast of blowing horn\r\nIncensed still more the whining nerves, The fabled last back-breaking straw\r\nTo weary, troubled, fretting mind.\r\n\"Ah, yes, 'twill break and crush my life; I cannot bear this constant strain\r\nOf endless, aggravating cares;\r\nThey are too great for such as l.\" So thus my heart condoled itself, \"Enjoying misery,\" when lo!\r\nA \"still small voice\" distinctly said,   \"Twas sent to lift you-not to crush.\" I saw at once my great mistake.\r\nMy place was not beneath the load But on the top! God meant it not\r\n\r\nThat I should carry it. He sent It here to carry me. Full well    He knew my incapacity\r\nBefore the plan was made. He saw A child of His in need of grace\r\nAnd power to serve; a puny twig Requiring sun and rain to grow;  An undeveloped chrysalis;\r\nA weak soul lacking faith in God. He could not help but see all this\r\nAnd more. And then, with tender thought He placed it where it had to grow-\r\nOr die. To lie and cringe beneath\r\nOne's load means death, but life and power Await all those who dare to rise above.\r\nOur burdens are our wings; on them We soar to higher realms of grace;   Without them we must roam tor aye  On planes of undeveloped faith,\r\n(For faith grows but by exercise In circumstance impossible).\r\nOh, paradox of Heaven. The load\r\nWe think will crush was sent to lift us Up to God! Then, soul of mine,\r\nClimb up! for naught can e'er be crushed Save what is underneath the weight.\r\nHow may we climb! By what ascent   Shall we surmount the carping cares Of life! Within His word is found\r\nThe key which opens His secret stairs; Alone with Christ, secluded there,\r\nWe mount our loads, and rest in Him. --Miss Mary Butterfield.",1783499792050]